


Girl This

by lilsmartass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Family, Gen, Humour, Wee!chesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even before the fire, Dean always did what his Daddy said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl This

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: PG  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, but oh, I wish they were. Childhood story blatantly stolen from a Reddit post.  
> Warning/Spoilers: None.  
> Genre: humour, wee!chester

** Girl This **

The motel room door slammed shut with such force the walls rattled. John looked up from the notes he was calmly making in his journal and quirked a brow at Dean. “Something wrong?” he asked mildly, but with enough of an edge that suggested Dean better have a damn good reason for slamming the door that way.

“No sir,” Dean grunted, roughly tearing off the too big jacket he had acquired from John’s meagre wardrobe and throwing it angrily onto the second chair.

John’s eyebrow stayed raised. “Dean,” he said warningly, causing Sam to look up from where he was reading on the bed at the tone.

Dean shook his head, fury darkening his usually green eyes to almost black. “Some asshole at the bar thinks I look like a girl,” he grunted. John’s lips twitched visibly. “What?” Dean demanded angrily, seventeen year old pride wounded to the point of potentially recklessly inciting his father with the blatant disrespect in his voice. “I soon set him straight.”

It was too much, John put his head down and laughed, a wild unrestrained laugh that almost had Dean reaching for the holy water, he couldn’t remember the last time John had sounded so happy.

“What?” he demanded again.

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Sam asked, abandoning his text book to move over to his father, his eyes alight with mischief, able, with a younger brother’s preternatural ability to sniff out potential blackmail material a mile away.

For a second John hesitated, but just a second. It wasn’t often remembering Mary made him happy. “Dean was about three,” he started.

 

_“What’s wrong Dean-o?” John asked, crouching in front of the three year old angrily kicking a stone back and forth in the driveway to the best of his limited ability._

_Dean looked up, shaking his blond curls out of his eyes to squint at his dad silhouetted against the sun. “Daddy, do I look like a little girl?”_

_John almost smiled at the indignant little face before him, but realising that his son was serious he masked it with a cough, “No bud. You don’t look like a little girl.”_

_“Because some lady in the supermarket told Mommy that she had a very pretty little girl and she meant me, and she’s not the only one and I like being a boy Daddy!”_

_The words tumbled over themselves and once again, John was hard pressed to suppress his laughter, “Well next time someone says that to you, just pull your pants down, that’ll show them you’re a little boy won’t it?”_

_Dean nodded, face still serious, but he didn’t resist when John picked him up and started tickling him mercilessly, giggling and kicking and flailing wildly in his father’s arms, the incident forgotten._

 

Sam’s face reflected an unholy level of glee. “Oh God Dean! You didn’t!”

“No,” Dean denied, face already red, shaking his head furiously, “I didn’t. I didn’t, right dad!” his tone was hard and demanding, every inch the terrifying hunter John knew he could be, his eyes were outright pleading, but there was something deep his expression that told John he was drinking in every word as eagerly as a man lost in the desert sucks down a glass of water, anxious to hear any story in which his Mother was present.

John’s smile widened in unadulterated happiness and he turned back to Sam. “So about two weeks later, your Mom needs some groceries and takes Dean with her to the store...”

 

_Dean huffed where he was sitting in the shopping cart watching his mother place items in. He’d already counted all the apples for her, and all the tins of soup and arranged everything into meticulous rows and now he was bored. But he’d been promised that if he didn’t cry and let Mommy get her groceries he would be taken for ice-cream, and Dean could endure a little boredom for ice cream. He sighed again, peering hopefully up from under his fringe, hoping Mommy would see how good he was being and would let him get sprinkles too._

_Mary wasn’t looking his way, she was deep in conversation with another customer, glancing at him only when the other lady walked over to the cart and peered into it with an indulgent smile. “What a beautiful little girl,” she cooed, looking back over her shoulder at Mary, “She looks just like you.”_

_Dean rocketed to his feet, almost head butting the lady in the nose from where she was bending over him. With nimble fingers that had recently learned how to accomplish the task he unsnapped the buttons holding his dungarees up. The slightly too big outfit fell away and Dean easily pushed down his favourite Batman underpants and grabbed hold of his tiny penis. “Girl_ this _!” he shouted triumphantly, turning every head in the store._

_Hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the sudden, painfully loud giggle that had burst out of her, Mary turned bright red and reached into the cart to grab him and run from the store, Dean stuffed under her arm like a football._

_Strapping him smartly into his car seat she drove them home, drawing John’s shocked attention as she drew the Impala to a screeching halt outside the house. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, striding to the car and peering in. “Where are the groceries?”_

_Still flaming scarlet and  vacillating wildly between insane laughter at the looks on all the other shopper’s faces and mortification at the deep certainty she would never be able to visit that store at any time in the next decade without being reminded of this debacle, Mary leapt out of the car an advanced on John. “What did you tell him?”_

_“What?” John asked, hands raised to ward off the explosive anger he knew his wife would have no compunctions about venting in this riled state._

_“Your son? What did you tell him to do the next time someone mistook him for a girl?”_

_John wasn’t sure what she was talking about. All he was certain of was that something had happened and Mary blamed him. Slightly ashamed to be looking for clues from his three year old, John peered hopefully into the backseat of the Impala. At the sight of Dean, pants and underpants still around his ankles, his own – mostly joking – words came back to him. “He didn’t?” he gasped, horror warring with amusement in his stomach._

_“Oh, he did,” said Mary. Another giggle escaped her, “Oh john you should have seen it. Should have seen the looks on their faces. Girl_ this _!” she said, mimicking her son._

_Amusement won, and John sat down in the garden, staring up at his wife and laughed until he cried._

Dean scowled and broke eye contact, looking down at his jacket where it was carelessly piled and picking at the seams. “I was _three_!” he muttered rebelliously.

Sam was laughing so hard the tears were rolling down his face, just as John’s had been all those years ago. “Girl _this_!” he parroted, barely able to speak. “You say I look like a girl, but I’ve never had to get my wang out to prove it.”

Dean’s scowl deepened and he remained staring down for a second before he brightened considerably and smirked at his brother. “You want me to remind you what you did when you were three?”

Sam’s horrified expression was answer enough, and another laugh burst out of John’s chest, loud enough to have someone rapping on the wall for silence.


End file.
